


Here Comes the Water

by NiceTinCan



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Community: twd_kinkmeme, Emetophilia, Horny Rick, Infidelity, Kink Meme, M/M, Top Rick, Vomiting, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiceTinCan/pseuds/NiceTinCan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shane and Rick have some downtime together they both get off on Shane throwing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Comes the Water

Rick’s not sure when he realized it, when they both realized it, not really, and it probably makes him one of the sickest sons of bitches on the planet to get his dick hard from this and Lori, God, _Lori_.

It’s horrible enough that he cheats on his wife to bang his best friend, the family friend, on the regular—God hates a sodomite, his mama would’ve said, and sure, Rick still expects to burn at the end of all time—but what’s really damning is that watching Shane heave and choke might make that eternal fire worth it. 

Rick knows he’s a Good Ol’ Boy, supposed to be, and that’s what makes his cheeks hot even as he thumbs over the curve of his cock stretching his pants.

Shane clutches the trash bin. His hands are wet and slippery Rick knows, just like how the rest of him is sheened in sweat; he’s felt Shane’s hands on him after, and how they slip-slided down his body, pruned at the tips.

Shane retches again, his whole body into it, God he knows how to make it _good_ , and this time it’s not dry; white fizzy froth fountains down from his mouth, and for an ecstatic heartbeat Rick can imagine it’s _come_ pouring from Shane’s lips, and he groans tightly.

It’s whisky though, whisky and—well, Shane’s never let him on what he uses. Rick’s not sure if it’s ipecac or something else, he just knows Shane always has some around, for special occasions, for Rick.

Shane coughs. He spits. His eyes are teary and he’s trembling a little.

This ain’t no pretend.

Lori would never do this.

Shane wipes his forehead, his mouth that’s froth-lined and rabid.

He sits back on his haunches and looks at Rick with red-forked eyes, wet and bloodshot. He smirks and picks up the bottle beside him and tips it up.

Rick watches his throat work.

Maybe it happened when they were kids. Shane got a bad flu one summer and Rick hadn’t stayed away from him per his mama’s request, so he was at Shane’s house when Shane was running into the bathroom over and over and Rick had listened to him retch and there might have been something else his mama should’ve worried about, because the sick sounds didn’t disgust him. All he had been was fascinated and curious and wanting to watch.

And maybe he’s glad it started like that, because as an adult he would’ve never had the courage, but as a little boy it was nothing to just go into the bathroom and sit on the counter and watch and politely pester Shane that he had to pee once Shane noticed him.

Before Shane saw him though, he got to watch Shane hack and heave and spit up what Rick recognized as juice and crackers and chicken noodle soup from a can, since Shane didn’t have a mama to make the real thing for him. And it wasn’t gross. Rick liked it, inexplicably. The same way he liked how Shane’s cool hands felt when they played Doctor or when they pretended to be married for House and divvied up the husband and wife and kid roles. He liked it just how, at sixteen, he’d like Shane’s broadening shoulders and changing voice and hearing about who he fucked. At nineteen, he liked it how he liked Shane’s mouth against his own and how hot and tight he was inside.

At twenty-seven Shane had thrown up outside their squad car, just leaned out the window and let go all of Diane’s coffee onto roadside gravel.

Rick hadn’t said anything. He had barely looked. But Shane had leaned back in, and over the swipe of his black-gloved hand over his mouth his eyes had glinted with more than sick tears. “You still like that shit, don’tcha?” he had chastised, and hummed a laugh when Rick couldn’t think of anything to say. “Holy shit, Rick.”

But there was no disgust or judgment. Just playfulness and Shane reaching over to acknowledge Rick’s very hard cock through his uniform pants, and Rick had burned so hot at the acceptance he cussed and said something he shouldn’t have to Shane because two years later he was nothing but a liar in a suit, at the altar and whispering those words into Lori’s ear, Shane a dim shape next to him.

But whatever he had with Shane wasn’t rightfully snuffed out and instead burned on, until he’s here now, Shane’s paling face telling him he’ll dip his head and clutch the bin in a few moments.

Rick gets up from the chair he’d been sitting and watching in and goes beside Shane. His back is tense under Rick’s palm. His cock is hard, not because he really enjoys this but because Rick does, Rick knows.

Rick’s found no appeal in doing it himself, though he’s tried, as something like an extension or proxy of his fetish, to bring that out of himself; a night he had alone when Lori was out with the girls and Shane fucking one, he’d sat in bed, pushed his fingers in his tonsils and retched until he brought something up.

Liquid casserole had warmly crept down the naked skin between the lapels of the robe Lori got him for Christmas. Rick had stared, willed himself not to bolt, fingered the soft line of his cock and waited to feel that same glee he had felt all those years ago listening to Shane’s puke splatter in the toilet bowl.

It never came, and as minutes passed, Rick became suffused with shame and disgust at the realization he’d just puked on himself, and he ran into the shower like someone had set a wasp’s nest under him.

Rick doesn’t think Shane feels any of that revulsion, even if he doesn’t enjoy it outright. There’s too much challenge in his eyes, too much satisfaction. His cock is too hard.

“Wait wait wait,” Rick says, when Shane’s face starts tensing and there’s that hot spittle starting to bubble up between his lips—and Rick’s always thought that so perfect, how a mouth gets warm and wet before the first heave.

Shane looks at him, swallowing uncontrollably, and not for the first time he seems to look right into Rick’s mind and exhume his thoughts. “You want, on you?”

“Uh-huh,” Rick says. “And, and, _in_ , while...”

“Uh-huh,” Shane echoes, and he turns on his knees and brings their mouths together, his weight settling Rick back on the floor.

And really, Shane is so goddamn _comfortable_ with this, Rick doesn’t know why his own tongue always feels too big for his mouth when he wants to talk about it.

Shane tastes like sour acid whisky, and Rick can’t ever remember kissing him after this shit they do, but Shane seems to know intrinsically that Rick will like it and he does.

Shane shoves Rick’s shirt up and undoes his belt, his thighs straddling Rick’s, thick muscles there pressing up through his pants. Rick supports himself up on his elbows when Shane brings him out through his briefs, and watches his long fingers play a dark tune around his cockhead.

“No condom,” Rick urges, even though he’s sure Shane won’t get one because he _knows_ , but they usually do, and Rick is the one to insist, but this is dirty to the bone.

“Course not.” Shane grins lopsidedly though it’s faint under rising gall.

He leaves Rick a moment to pull his pants off but he’s back quick enough, and now Rick can see his blood dark cock, fluid pearled at the tip and Rick considers how being so nauseated and aroused at the same time feels.

Shane grunts and presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. Rick thinks he might lose it all over before Rick can get inside him but Shane swallows, coughs and shakes his head. “‘Kay, here.” He gets that familiar grip around Rick’s cock to hold it steady and raises up over it.

Rick’s toes curl and his eyelids fight to shut as Shane sinks down on him. He gives up resting on his arms and lies back completely.

Shane rises up, but comes down just as quick, sloppy and heavy. “Fuck,” he says, rubbing his temple with the hand not balanced on Rick’s chest. “Damn, dizzy. Need some fluids after this one, remind me a’ that.”

“Some more whisky?”

“You shut up.” Shane comes up again. “More of that and I’ll be pukin long after it’s funny.”

Everything devolves into grunts and gasps soon enough. Shane’s coming down hard and his hair is a wild wet mess and Rick can’t hold his hips anymore because they slip on Shane’s sweat-licked skin so he touches over Shane’s firm stomach and imagines all that liquid sloshing with his movements, crawling up his throat.

“Yeah?” Shane asks him in a thick voice, his hands moving to Rick’s arms and clenching there. Sweat flies out of his curls.

Rick licks his lips and can taste it. “Go ahead.”

Shane’s nails dig into Rick’s flesh and his face grimaces, his hips coming down messily.

There’s a low groan and then he retches and Rick _feels_ every bit of it; how Shane seizes up around his cock painfully tight, how there’s two hitched jolts like the double beat of a heart before a warm white gush pours on Rick’s chest.

It’s overwhelming. Rick gasps and comes. His feet scrabble at the floor to push up into Shane, and that sends whisky puke creeping around his neck in a warm embrace.

Rick takes ahold of Shane’s cock and squeezes it, and Shane, Shane who always makes it so good, lurches and upchucks up again the same time his dick spurts all over Rick’s fist. Seeing the utter release is almost too much for Rick and gets a breath caught in his lungs and his hips spasming upwards.

Shane drops forward on a groan, panting tiredly. Rick swipes his thumb around his cock, cleaning up his come as it softens.

Shane opens his eyes a little and looks down at Rick. He smiles and pats his cheek, then holds his face and turns it. “Damn, shit’s all up in your ears.”

Shane sits up and stretches his torso to grab the paper towels on the counter. While he rips some off, Rick takes his come-covered hand and runs his fingertips through the foamy mess on his chest, and maybe he does need to get cleaned up but he wouldn’t mind just staying like this for a time.

Shane’s getting ready to towel him down when Rick sits up and kisses him. Vomit slides south and seeps between their joined parts, warm and soft.

Shane kisses him back, until Rick moves his lips to his cheek. Rick feels the first swipe of a towel on his chest. 

“Thank you,” he says.


End file.
